


Notcalypse

by CinnamonLily



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Adult Stiles, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, BAMF Stiles, But Bear With Me Anyway, Canon-Typical Violence, Ennis and Kali are evil though, Good-ish Deucalion, Hidden Talents, M/M, Mercenary Derek, Not At All Sure How This Will Turn Out, Orphan Stiles, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Romance isn't an option in this world, Secrets, The Romance Will Take Time, This is not fluffy at all, Top Derek Hale/Bottom Stiles Stilinski, or at least so they think for a while
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-12
Updated: 2017-04-03
Packaged: 2018-10-03 12:36:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10245863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CinnamonLily/pseuds/CinnamonLily
Summary: At the point Stiles had been born, no-one had cared about socioeconomic differences, or the race or gender of two people in love. Every baby born was one of two things; either one more mouth to feed or a miracle, depending on where and to whom they were born to.His parents had considered him a miracle for sure. They were the people who weren’t supposed to be able to have kids, not after all the toxins and radiation that had been spreading all over the world after Notcalypse. It had been bad, the stories he had overheard when he was just a boy still haunted his dreams.ORThe Post-Apocalyptic Take on Sterek





	1. Behind Door Number One

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: There are secondary relationships in this story. Stiles and Derek DO have sex but there are no feelings involved at first. It's all about bartering and scratching an itch for them. The secondary relationships vary from one night stands to long time fuckbuddies kind of thing, but neither of them is actually cheating on or in love with anyone. 
> 
> If this is not your cup of tea, stay away from the kettle. You've been warned.
> 
> Also I don't have a beta for this, so... sorry.

 

The morning cleared up the storm that had raged all night, and Stiles felt glad. He was sick and tired of treading in mud and he was sure his clothes would never dry again. Not only was he wet, he was cold, and the sun’s rays that peeked into his hiding place felt almost like his mother’s caress from better days.

Sadly, he knew it wasn’t enough to dry him, it was just enough to deceive him into hoping the day would be sunny enough to actually enjoy. Sighing, he got up from his partial shelter on the second floor of one of the numerous ruined buildings in this particular city of ruins. Once, it had had a name, Stiles was sure. Most places had, after all. But after all went ass over kettle, things changed. Sometimes Stiles wondered if he was lucky to have been born only a couple of years after the Notcalypse, as his dad had called it. Would he miss things he couldn’t even put into words if he’d actually seen them? Quaint little towns with fountains and parks, and grocery stores and movie theaters. Things people before him had thought normal, everyday things.

Well, there was no knowing now, was there? Instead, there was struggle, and for someone as naturally lanky as him, this world was even more dangerous, more of a struggle. Even though he wasn’t short, he’d always been on the skinny side, and on the worst of times he could look outright frail despite his height. He wondered how ever had he made it to twenty-three in the first place. Pure luck and certain tenaciousness that ran in the Stilinski blood, he assumed.

He gathered the few things he considered as necessities; backpack, bed roll, and a machete. The backpack had all his belongings in it, and it wasn’t much at all. He couldn’t remember how many times he had begun again, after being robbed or otherwise lost his things.

This ruined city, though, it felt… lucky. That was the only way he could explain it. So maybe, just maybe, he’d find something useful in here. Food would be nice. He was skin and bones and knew it.

He also happened to know that this city was on the way towards the more inhabited areas of the western coast of what used to be United States. That meant that this place might have decent amount of traffic still, which meant people. People meant discarded or forgotten stuff. Stuff meant… life.

Most scavengers liked the untouched places the best, but since those were between hard and impossible to find these days, Stiles had taken on a different outlook to survive. He couldn’t count on luck, he needed to dirty his hands to go through other people’s trash if needed. The only goal was survival, whatever that would take.

He jogged down the stairs and peeked into the street from one of the broken windows. Nobody was there, it was quiet. Almost too quiet, but this world was always quiet. Noise meant danger.

Stiles decided on a course of action and began to walk quietly, efficiently, and close to the walls of the buildings where he could. He kept walking up this street, down the next, left here and right there, not bothered with the fact that his boots were still wet. He never removed his shoes unless he was trying to get clean. Not for sleeping, for sure. It was the first thing scavengers would take. Good pair of shoes was worth a food ration for a month or two.

Sticking close to the walls, he peeked into the buildings, seeing remnants of different kinds of businesses and a lot of dirt. That was what the world had become in the last twenty-five years; dirty, just in a more concrete way.

Stiles had been born somewhere in Texas to a loving couple from two very different social statuses. His dad had been a Polish immigrant’s son and his mom, the only child of a CEO of some kind. He didn’t know, and frankly things like that had lost their meaning long ago.

At the point Stiles had been born, no-one had cared about socioeconomic differences, or the race or gender of two people in love. Every baby born was one of two things; either one more mouth to feed or a miracle, depending on where and to whom they were born to.

His parents had considered him a miracle for sure. They were the people who weren’t supposed to be able to have kids, not after all the toxins and radiation that had been spreading all over the world after Notcalypse. It had been bad, the stories he had overheard when he was just a boy still haunted his dreams.

People with flesh falling off their bones, people getting sicker than anyone thought possible without dying, babies born dead or with limbs they certainly didn’t need or missing vital organs… Stiles still shuddered at the thought.

Something drew his attention suddenly in the back corner of a nearby dead end alley. He looked around before quickly slipping into the alley, making his way to the corner. He grinned widely when his eyes tracked what he could tell was the outline of a hidden door.

It was laid with slices of brick so that it seamlessly fit in the wall. Stiles had sharp eyes for these kind of doors, or any kind of doors in general. He seemed to have a knack of knowing how to find and open doors others couldn’t. In this day and age, it could be as practical a skill as making a fire.

This particular door hadn’t been opened in a while, and he could only hope it wasn’t locked. Finding the seams with his fingertips, he used his machete to clean the narrow space and then dug for his tiny crowbar from the backpack. It wasn’t really a crowbar, just a piece of metal shaped like one, at least half the weight of a real crowbar and much, much smaller. Handy as a weapon too, he had discovered.

Sliding the end of his crowbar to where the handle to a normal door was, he nudged it a little. Carefully, because he didn’t want to make noise and there was always a possibility that if this door had been closed since the city had been abandoned, it could be booby trapped.

Sending a quick thought to the heavens where he hoped his parents were watching over him, he pushed the tool. His heart about stopped in the split second before the possible trap would’ve gone off. There were none, luckily. Instead, there was a small _snick_ and the door loosened enough for Stiles to be able to slowly rock it back and forth on its hidden hinges, and finally it groaned under its own weight and opened enough for his lithe body to fit through. He grabbed his flashlight and hoped it had enough battery for this.

He turned on the flashlight and sighed with relief when it showed a surprisingly large beam of light for him. There needed to be a proper sunny day soon, he needed to recharge all the batteries he had emptied during the stormy months. The solar powered recharger was one of his most prized possessions.

Looking around quickly and efficiently, he realized he was in some sort of a vault. The good thing was that it had one shelf full of canned and dried goods. The bad thing? There were two walls with racks full of weapons. _Shit._ This was bad.

Stiles froze, listened carefully as the strange shivers ran up and down his spine, and forced himself to relax a little. Okay, time to check the stuff, loot what he could, and then move the hell out.

He went through the tables on the sides and a desk on the end wall. Little knickknacks he could trade later were as important as food. Pens, lighters, small tools, scissors, he scooped everything into one of the large pockets in the side of his backpack. A nice stash. Batteries too. They weighed a lot but were worth a ton, especially these rechargeable ones.

Then he walked to the wall with the smaller weapons. There were handguns, mostly those old-fashioned ones from the late twentieth century. Picking up two he figured he could use, holsters and ammunition, and put all into his backpack. No time to get armed now, he needed to be out as soon as possible.

He grabbed an empty shoulder bag from a hook on the wall and filled it with food. Canned… everything. He thanked fate of the ways mankind had learned new things in the twenty first century. Canned goods of from thirty years ago were still edible and in this shitty new world that was more than welcome. Stiles picked up dried meat, even found some small bags of nuts and—miracle of miracles—a water purifier. Jackpot!

Stiles grinned, fitted the purifier, basically just a small cylinder you ran water through, and two packages of replace filters for it into his backpack and was just about to grab his flashlight, when the door opened behind him almost soundlessly—a miracle in itself.

“Kid, we need to go in three minutes,” a man said as he stepped inside.

 Stiles heard the man move past him to the weapons-rack with the big guns, and turned to look.

 _Jesus fucking Christ!_ The guy wasn’t that much taller than Stiles, but he looked like one of those cartoon mercenaries he had seen in graphic novels as a kid. All strength, ruthlessness, and big muscles. _Shit._

The man took one of the bigger rifles, an automatic, from the wall, packed his own backpack with enough ammunition for an artillery, and walked next to Stiles to stash some of the edible goods into a satchel hanging over his shoulder.

“Move, we have less than a minute!” the guy hissed, and something in the tone made Stiles obey immediately. He had already struggled the now much heavier backpack on, and in the final moment, as he was going to the door, he saw something on a corner shelf near the door.

“Grab one of those!” he hissed back at the man, nodding towards the neatly folded tarps.

They were light weight military issue-ones and vital for several reasons.

The man groaned but took one and added it under his huge arm. “Now fucking go,” he growled.

They dashed into the alley, and listened. Yes, something was coming, the guy had been right.

“How well do you climb?” the man asked quietly but with an urgency while pushing the door closed behind them.

Without answering, Stiles made sure nothing obstructed his movements, and began to climb the ladder attached to the wall across the alley. He climbed and climbed, hastily but efficiently, and rolled to the roof of the building, only to have to scramble before the heavy body of his new acquaintance squished him.

“Hey!” Stiles managed, before a hand covered his mouth and an angry hiss told him to “shut the fuck up”.

He nodded, looked around and pressed himself against the roof, feeling lucky to be so skinny he could hide in plain sight. The wall surrounding the edges of the roof wasn’t that high, and the stranger had to take his bag, backpack and even his holster off to be able to press himself flat against the rooftop.

They listened.

“Someone’s opened this recently,” a female voice said from two stories below them.

“Looks like it, let’s see the damage,” another, male voice agreed.

There were sounds of boots, and Stiles counted at least four or five voices in the next five minutes. They were looking for something, but they were also gathering all the guns and ammo and whatever else they could, before having a bone-chilling conversation close to the ladder.

“Should we try to find who it was? They know there were guns there, and maps,” the man voice asked again.

“I bet it was Hale, but there was someone with him. There’s smaller footprints in the dust.” The woman spat out. “We can deal with him when we come across him, no time to waste here. We need to be on the coast in five days. Let’s go.”

The door closed and the sounds of feet retreated from the alley.

Stiles sighed and relaxed. Then he turned his head and looked at the giant next to him.

“You Hale?” he made an educated guess.

“Uh-huh. Former Lieutenant of the United Nations’ task force Derek Hale,” the man introduced himself like his title was a curse word. “At your service.”

“Shit…” Stiles exhaled, he knew about the task force, everyone did. This guy could probably kill him with one finger. They were soldiers of the best—or worst—kind. “And those guys?” he nodded towards the wall next to him.

“Yep. They’re Rogues.” The grim ghost of a smile on Hale’s face chilled Stiles further.

Back before the Notcalypse, the world had tried to unite, and the United Nations had become a purely military force because they had no other options, its special forces going to places where restlessness occurred and “calming the situation”. Basically it meant going in with guns blazing and annihilating everyone who dared to fight. They had managed to stop possible World Wars number three and four, but the fifth…yeah, not so much.

By then the situation was more of the “hell in a hand basket” variety all over the world, and the task force had been set to try and calm the worst situations down. After all the fighting, everything they’d done and seen, they were pure mercenaries, men of the worst kind, some said. Ruthless, often without families or reasons to live, and some of them came with either chemically or technologically enhanced bodies and minds.

There were rumors, a few years after the Notcalypse, also known as World War Five, that some of the men had gone Rogue.

Apparently it was true, but Hale didn’t seem old enough to be one of the original Task Force.

“You’re too young,” Stiles stated, and got an eye-roll in return.

“Second generation Task Force,” Hale said dryly, and finally moved to his knees to carefully peek over the wall.

“Oh,” Stiles had thought that was a myth too. Apparently not.

So Hale was the son of one of the original task force-mercenaries then. More dedicated than most, including their fathers and mothers, and definitely not a rogue. The task force, much like the UN, had been disbanded years ago, and after that it was every man for himself.

“What are they after?” Stiles asked after thinking for a while.

“The room down there, it was one of the task force’s secret stashes. They are all over, and it’s said one of them contains the maps to some underground vault where the UN stored enough food and other goods to last for a few years. For at least two hundred people.” Hale had begun to check his stuff and strapped a mean looking hand gun back to his side.

“Shit…,” Stiles muttered his favorite curse word. “I’m Stiles,” he said, as an afterthought.

“Well, Stiles, we have,” Hale looked up at the sky, “About five to six and a half hours of daylight left. The safe kind of daylight.”

“Where are you going?” Stiles, who was going through his own backpack and making sure everything would fit well and press against his body while carrying, asked. He wanted to ask “and can I come with you” but didn’t.

“My family owns a farm in Central Valley, that’s where I’m heading.”

Stiles whistled, Central Valley was one of the only places in the old United States that still managed to produce meat and crops of many kinds. These days it was like a fairytale for the kids who grew up far away from Old California.

“Yeah, and I promised my mother that I’d go back, so I’ve been going, for two years now.” Hale’s voice took a weird quality, but Stiles didn’t want to ask.

“Do you think… I mean…” shit, he couldn’t ask. He was used to getting on alone, after all.

“Oh, I’ll definitely be taking you along,” Hale said, like it was nothing at all. “They know someone is with me and I knew the voices. Kali and Ennis. They’re assholes. The worst kind, they know you’re a man, because Ennis and the other men Kali commands can smell a woman from a hundred yards. If they catch you, and trust me you can’t avoid them forever, they will kill you slowly, but not before they use you.”

Stiles understood the unsaid and shivered with disgust.

“They’ll rape, kill and possibly eat anyone they can catch who isn’t of use. Men, women, children, they don’t care. They’re wolves.” The hatred in Hale’s voice was like venom, and Stiles hoped he’d never end up being considered the big guy’s enemy.

“What about the female?”

“Kali… she’s the one who’d cook you. Possibly eat you raw. She’s the kind of evil bitch in charge the men won’t try to touch twice.”

“Cannibalism… eww….” Stiles felt like retching. Then something else occurred to him. “What’s the price of tagging along?”

“Oh… we’ll figure out something,” Hale shrugged, but Stiles could feel the eyes on himself, as he bent to pick up his machete.

So, ass. That was what Hale, like any red-blooded male ever, wanted. Just great. Not that Hale was disgusting or anything, on the contrary. With some cleaning and even minimum grooming, the man would be desirable. He had gorgeous eyes even though they were hardened like Stiles knew his own were. He wanted to see the man smile, but he doubted that would happen anytime soon. And besides, it wasn’t like Stiles himself didn’t have an itch to scratch, but… still. Sometimes it bugged him to be seen as nothing but a piece of ass.

“So you have a plan, then?” Stiles asked casually, finally putting on the holster for one of his brand new guns and loaded the weapon, before putting the safety on and sliding it under his arm.

“South first, then east,” Hale said. “Deucalion likes to go in a zigzag pattern, and they were coming from the north so they should go east or west next. Buys us time. Besides there’s a place I need to check out.”

Something about the tone suggested that the place was something special to the man.

“Okay,” Stiles shrugged, he was content, after all. “Are you on foot?”

Hale looked at him like he was nuts. Vehicles were lucky finds, mostly because gas was hard to come across and even harder to trade for. It was obvious the man didn’t have wheels.

“Well then…” Stiles smirked, made sure his backpack and shoulder bag weren’t restricting his movement, and that he could still grab his machete and the gun easily enough, and looked at Hale. “Let’s see if that staircase is intact,” he pointed at the door in the middle of the roof.

Hale swung the rifle he had taken from the room around his neck and shoulder, and tossed the tarp at Stiles. Then he walked to the door, wrung it open, and took a small but powerful flashlight from his pocket to show the way.

In a few minutes, they were at the open back door of the building, and Stiles held out a hand for Hale to stop him.

“Wait.” He thought for a while, then grinned and said “This way.”

Surprisingly, Hale followed him without a question and even looked a little bit curious.

They walked carefully to the edge of this part of the city, and Stiles ducked inside a small, run-down music shop, that had lost most of its front wall at some point or another. When he came out again, he was pushing something that resembled a motorcycle.

“Niiice…,” Hale stretched the word, and Stiles preened.

“Almost full tank, so it should take us a good while, even with your mass on top.”

“Shut up,” Hale said half-heartedly, while running his calloused fingers on the dented gas tank of the bike.

“I’ll drive, by the way,” Stiles said, turned the bike to the closest exit and sat down. “It has a muffler, so it’s relatively quiet too,” he added, as the other man tried to figure out the bike’s weird construction. “Now hop on and hold on.”

To his surprise, Hale did as he was told and even though the bike gave a little bit of a whine, it held. Stiles started it, Hale told him where to drive, and they were off.


	2. Cleaning Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leaving the city behind, Stiles and Hale camp for the night and do some much needed bathing. And some fucking. Because who wouldn't.

After an hour or so, when they were a safe distance away from the city and the terrain began to change to a more difficult one with the shattered roads and rubble everywhere, Stiles stopped the bike on a relatively empty and open area.

“Let’s take a little break and figure things out,” he said, and waited for Hale to swing his big body off the bike, before doing the same.

“So, I’m thinking where we’re going is about a day and a half from here on wheels. More if we ran out of gas and have to ditch the bike.” Hale said and stretched his back awkwardly under all the stuff he was carrying.

“I would try to hold on to it as long as we can or stash it somewhere we can find it later if we can’t find gas,” Stiles said. A working motorcycle was worth a lot, after all.

“Sure, but we need to find a place to rest comfortably and honestly I don’t know much of this area or what’s beyond these plains.” Hale frowned.

“Good then that I know,” Stiles grinned. “I came through here with some friends, from the South, about…four years ago I think. It’s almost the same here now, so we should be able to go on with little difficulty, and I still remember where we camped then.”

“Let’s check it out, how far away is it?” The big man popped his neck and prepared to take off again.

“Something like a half an hour on the bike, another half by foot after that. The best thing is that if it’s the same it was, there’s relatively clean water and I seriously need a bath,” Stiles sighed almost dreamily while climbing back on the bike.

They took off again, Stiles drove carefully but precisely and they came to the familiar road fifteen minutes later. It had a lot of grasses growing on it now, and it looked like no one had been there in a long time.

The area had once upon a time been part of a dairy farm, the closest one to the city. It had gone bankrupt even before the Notcalypse and even though people had tried to live there after the War, it seemed like the run down and abandoned buildings hadn’t been used in ages.

Hale became more alert—if that was possible—while they drove across the farmland and past all the buildings and ruined farm equipment. The forest Stiles steered the bike into was dense, and they drove for as long as it was possible, before stopping and admitting defeat.

There was a thicket of some shrubs and trees not far from the path, and they pushed the bike there for safekeeping. Then they continued to the direction Stiles pointed out and like he had said, in about half an hour or forty-five minutes, they came to a long, dried up riverbed.

“This is your bath?” Hale asked dubiously.

“Nope,” Stiles’s tone was cheerful as he crossed the riverbed and began to climb a little towards the even thicker forest on the other side.

When Hale emerged to the clearing, Stiles tried to hide his smirk at the man’s expression.

“Told you it was worth it,” Stiles shrugged casually, dropped his gear next to the rock formation that was almost like a shallow cave, and dug out his old and trusted Geiger counter and went to check the water in a nearby small pond. The counter needle twitched barely at all. Excellent. He filled some containers with water and set to purify it with his fancy new gadget.

“Do you think a fire would be safe here?” Hale, not knowing the area, asked.

“Yeah, I mean it seemed pretty empty on the way and this is in the middle of nowhere,” Stiles answered over his shoulder.

In short order, they had a fire going, the tarp spread to hang from some nearby trees and anchored to the ground with some loose stones so that it would provide them some more cover in the cave. Later, in other places where fresh water wasn’t handily in reach, they could use it to gather moisture during the night.

It was almost domestic, the way they worked together to build their campsite and how Hale went to get firewood and Stiles figured out their combined food and what to eat then, what to leave for later use.

“I filtered some water and put some of the dry meat in, make the fire while I’ll go wash. I’ll make us something proper to eat when I’m clean again,” Stiles told Hale when he was done with the initial set up.

Hale nodded, glanced at the sky and said, “Didn’t you say you had solar powered recharger? Sun is going to shine here soon, might want to put it on top of the rock there,” he nodded his head to a boulder on the farther edge of the clearing.

Stiles got undressed, completely, because he really needed to get rid of the now mostly dry clothes and there was nothing he had the other man hadn’t seen before he was sure, before going to set the charger. Then he went back to the cave, took out his small towel and a bar of soap, and walked to the small pond.

The water was cold as hell, because it was a spring after all, but it was deep and wide enough to work as a bath tub. Besides, there was a little stream running out of the pond, so the water wouldn’t get bad even if he used soap there. That was a bonus.

He sat on a rock that was partially underwater, and made an almost girly sound when the freezing water climbed up his feet. But damn if it didn’t feel good too. Promptly, before he could chicken out, he slid into the water and under the surface, shaking his head to get his hair wet, and then quickly returned to the stone. He soaped himself thoroughly, occasionally feeling Hale’s piercing gaze roam over his body, and finally washed his hair as well. When he was clean, he was also freezing, so he quickly wrapped himself in the ragged, thin towel and walked back to the entrance of the cave.

He noticed that Hale had spread both of their bed rolls near the entrance, so that the warmth from the small fire would warm who ever sat on them. Gratefully Stiles sat down and dug for a comb from his small toiletry kit. There weren’t many things in it, only a well-worn toothbrush, a few condoms—an extremely lucky find if you asked anyone, even though those had changed too over the last half a century or so—some liquid soap, bandages, some alcohol which he used to clean the worst scrapes and cuts, and a small mirror.

Hale was already stripping, and Stiles could tell the man was as anxious as he was to get clean. The places you could safely let go of your weapons of choice and your clothing were rare, and places like this one….

Stiles piled the clothing he needed washed to one spot and pulled on his last clean pair of underwear and a clean tank top. The sun was warming the clearing enough for him to not get cold, especially with the fire in front of him. Then he dug out some of the food and began to prepare some canned veggies, dried meat and nuts-stew. It would be far better than anything he had eaten in weeks, and he felt a bit faint when he got a whiff of the stew. Geez, talk about starving.

He happened to glance at the pond as the fit-as-fuck man was washing his hair, and whistled low under his breath. Damn… He had no idea how Hale could keep the muscle mass he had with the nutrition that was available, but he was grateful anyway. Being a hole to fill for a man like that and getting some extra safety in return was not a bad deal at all. He just hoped that with the equipment Hale had, he’d also know how to use it. Because boy was there equipment….

Stiles’s contemplation was cut short by the stew bubbling over and he cursed, rushing to move it away from the small flame.

He made the conscious decision to concentrate on filling their respective mugs with fresh drinking water—again he thanked the universe for the purifier—and took some of the stew into his bowl and began to eat.

Hale walked back to the fire, shivering like Stiles had before, and when the smaller man tossed him the towel he had used himself, Hale thanked him through chattering teeth and went to look for clean clothes.

Soon they sat there, eating the stew in their underwear and enjoying the sunshine in a companionable silence.

Once Stiles was done, he pushed the half-full pan at the big man. “Eat the rest,” before rummaging through the messy contents of the pocket in his backpack where he’d put the office supplies earlier.

He found the scissors, balanced the mirror on a natural shelf on the cave’s wall, and began to cut away his hair. It was coarse and too long, and despite the grunts Hale began to make when he obviously was disagreeing with the length or shortness, rather, he cut it short on the sides as well as he could.

“Can you do the back for me? I can clean up your beard in return, you look like a Wildman.” Stiles grinned at Hale.

“Fine.” The guy sighed, and Stiles turned around, handing the scissors to him. “You do realize you just did the stupidest thing you can? Giving a blade to a stranger and turning your back….” the man tutted.

“Yeah, but I doubt you’re into necrophilia, so I suppose I’m safe,” Stiles deadpanned, and Hale chuckled under his breath.

“Yeah, for now.”

There were realities in play here, that much was obvious. The world as it was now was much colder and harsher, and it was all about bartering. It wasn’t the first time Stiles would barter with his body, not at all. Hell, after his dad died when he was nineteen, he had gotten his ride out of the dying town in the middle of Old Texas and into Old California by spending every night with the man who was riding the first truck of the colony. Well, the man and his wife, but Stiles didn’t really care for the woman and they all had known it too. Luckily she hadn’t had many qualms to be mostly excluded and the husband had had lube.

This… this was different in some ways. Stiles was old enough to know he was mildly attracted to something more than the quiet mercenary’s hot body. It was scary and dangerous and unwise, but there was nothing he could do now was there? Right now he had a new goal; instead of drifting, he’d go to Old Cali with Hale and figure things out from there. It wasn’t that bad to have company, he thought as the scissors made the clipping sounds behind his head. It was nice.

“Okay, it’s short now,” Hale said after a while, and Stiles touched the back of his head before nodding.

“That has to do. Now sit, I’ll do something to that beard of yours.”

With a grunt that Stiles now thought was part of Hale’s vocabulary, the man sat down and waited patiently while Stiles used the comb and the scissors to cut the beard short and neat.

“Have a razor?” Stiles asked, frowning in concentration.

“Yeah, give me a moment,” Hale said and reached over to rummage through a plastic bag that must have been his version of a toiletry case.

He held out a razor that had seen better days but was obviously sharp.

“How about you warm up water in the morning, use soap and everything, and really shave yourself. Or I’ll do it for you. Can’t be bothered to go and wash the dishes right now so I’ll need to warm up some water anyway,” Stiles suggested, and Hale nodded.

“Fine by me.”

Stiles made sure all the hairs were off from their bed rolls and Hale seemed to do some cleaning up around the fire. After the bed was clean, Stiles spread out into the sunlight that was beginning to fade as the sun was dropping behind the treetops.

Hale went to get the recharged batteries and hummed in approval. “This is neat,” he said, nodding at the stuff in his hands.

Then he raised his gaze and saw Stiles, bathed in sunlight, his clean, pale skin exposed in so many places with the tank top hitched up, whatever he had been going to say was forgotten. Stiles opened his eyes and saw Hale standing there, the charger in his hands and his cock suddenly tenting his boxers.

“If you toss the charger, I’ll chop you into pieces while you sleep,” Stiles said in a husky tone, while already stripping the little clothes he had on.

With a few long strides, the mercenary was suddenly there, placing the valuable item in his hand on top of Stiles’s backpack, before stripping his own clothes.

In an instant, he was on top of Stiles, his bulky body covering Stiles’s thinner one. There were no questions, no “are you sure” or “how do you want to do this”, only pure need and a silent agreement between them.

When Hale kissed him ravenously, Stiles moaned into the kiss and arched up to the muscular body. The large hand rubbing against his skin felt so fucking good he couldn’t stop making these pathetic little sounds.

“Wait!” Stiles came to his sense after a moment.

“What?” Hale raised his body a little, his odd, multicolored eyes hazy with lust.

“Condoms, I have some. Don’t want to make a mess,” he said, not adding that he couldn’t know where the big man had dipped his tool, but then again that went both ways. Even though most sexually transmitted diseases had been eliminated during the first half of the twenty-first century, who knew what there was now, years after vaccinations had become a rarity.

Hale leaned to his left hand, giving Stiles room to squirm closer to his pack to get the toiletry kit. The squirming made for some very nice friction, and by the time he had slithered back into place, he could tell Hale was ready to pop.

“No fucking way. You’re going to stretch me, then fuck me, then come. Not yet,” Stiles growled, pushed the other man off himself and pulled his legs back. “There’s no lube, so be creative.”

Hale’s answer was to grab the backs of Stiles’s thighs, push back to bend him in half and attack his hole with his tongue.

 _Jesus Christ on a fucking pogo-stick!_ As soon as there was a hot tongue flicking against and pushing into his hole, Stiles was as good as gone. Without any warning, just as Hale’s tongue penetrated him deep, he shot his load all over himself, including his face.

“Now that was hot,” Hale panted after a while, then dove right back in and made sure there was enough spit in Stiles’s suddenly much looser hole to make up for not having lube.

While the mercenary rolled on the condom—blessedly a pre-lubed one—Stiles was still coming down from his orgasm and not quite there mentally. It didn’t matter, because once the thick cock pushed into him, his back arched instinctively, and by the time it was rubbing over his prostate he was hard as rock again.

It wasn’t gentle or pretty, it was brutal and almost painful throughout and not just in the beginning, but fuck it was good. It was two grown men fucking in the most primal way, and when Hale pushed in so deep Stiles thought he might just die and they both came, Stiles had to admit it was the best fucking time—literally—he had had in years.

Stiles lay there, boneless and spent, while Hale pulled out, tossed the condom to the fire and grabbed the still damp towel to clean up Stiles’s whole front, including his face.

Afterward, he lay down next to Stiles, making sure Stiles was in between the fire and the shelter of Hale’s bigger body, and relaxed to a nap. There was no cuddling, not even touching, and neither of them seemed to want it either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got some comments that seemed confused about where this was going and what the tags were about. Again, THERE IS NO CHEATING in this fic. They aren't in a relationship when they have sex with other people. They don't even have feelings for each other when that happens. 
> 
> Kudos and comments feed the muse. Thank you!


	3. Vitamins Are Good For You

Later that evening, before it got dark, they woke up and did some laundry. Despite losing about one third of the soap Stiles had left, the clean clothes would be so worth it. They killed the fire for the night, put their bed rolls close to each other and made sure there was shelter from the possible wind. The tarp filled almost all the mouth of the cave when they readjusted it, and Hale told Stiles to sleep deeper inside the cave for security.

They slept surprisingly peacefully, given that they were almost squished together now. Seeking warmth trumped most things, and when morning came, Stiles found himself cuddled into the mercenary’s side and it seemed like neither of them had cared about that in their sleep. He hadn’t slept this well in ages; being alone made you always sleep with one eye open.

Because there was an impressive morning wood pressed to his thigh—he’d flung his leg over the man at some point—he decided to start the morning with something fun. He moved his hand from Hale’s chest and let it drift down to his cock. The first soft caress made the man twitch, and the second, firmer grip woke him up.

“Morning,” Stiles said and Hale hummed.

Suddenly there were large hands manhandling Stiles so that he was on top of Hale, in a perfect sixty-nine position. When they exposed each other’s cock to the cool morning air, things suddenly went from lazy to frantic. In no time they were sucking in earnest, sloppily, greedily, moaning and swallowing. When Stiles realized he was fucking Hale’s face, he decided he didn’t care, after all the man was lifting his hips to meet Stiles’s mouth too, so it definitely went both ways. In mere minutes they were both coming, and slurping and drinking each other’s cum like they were thirsty for it.

It was desperation and the need to connect to another being as much as it was lust and physical need in the actions. Neither of them made a big deal out of it and after they caught their breath a little and got up from their makeshift beds, it wasn’t even mentioned.

Stiles quite liked that. So far Hale was the perfect man. Neither of them was there to, or maybe not even capable of, catch emotions.

 

Once the sun was properly up and they had dried their washed clothing over the fire, they decided to leave and head out again. As lovely as the place was and even Hale seemed hesitant to leave, their campfire would attract attention eventually.

Packing everything up sucked, but it came with the territory. Around midday they were ready and began the trek back to the bike. They found it easily and since it sounded to be having about half a tank of gas left, they pushed it to the farmland instead of driving across the forest to save gas, and drove off again when the terrain was easier to navigate.

They didn’t talk while they walked and other than point at the correct crossroads for direction if Stiles was hesitant, Hale said nothing. They drove fast when they could, and sometimes there were miles and miles of almost open road that allowed it. On those stretches, Stiles enjoyed the wind on his face and the speed that seemed almost unreal.

When they came across a small settlement built around a gas station, they stopped for a while. They were on top of a hill, half a mile from the gas station, looking towards it.

“Wonder if they have gas,” Stiles said thoughtfully.

“They might. Want to take the risk?” Hale asked, leaning forward a bit to take the rifle from his back and placed it across his lap.

Opening the strap that held his handgun to the holster and removing the safety, Stiles nodded. “We have enough to trade. At least I do. There seems to be a lot of people there, so if they’re aggressive, it’s kill or be killed.” Then again, that was the reality with any aggressive people these days. Or scared people. Those were lethal, too.

“True. Well, let’s try this.” Hale shrugged.

Stiles started the bike and they drove slowly towards the station.

Four people were waiting for them at the crossroads behind the makeshift barricade that blocked it. There was an older lady with gray hair and a nasty looking sawed off shotgun. Next to her were two thirty-something men, obviously twins, and the fourth was a young, tough looking woman with a round baby-belly and a handgun in each hand.

“Afternoon,” Stiles said pleasantly as he slowed down on the other side of the barricade.

The woman nodded, but nobody else said or did anything. They were waiting for the strangers to act first.

“We’re running out of gas and we wondered if you had any to barter with?” Stiles asked, and the twins looked at the woman quickly.

“Yes, we do, but it depends on what you have,” the woman said in a steady, intelligent voice. The way she pronounced her words, carefully and with excellent clarity, spoke highly of her educational background.

“Ammo, plenty of it,” Hale said.

“I have vitamin pills. A whole unopened bottle that’s good until the end of the year, but that costs extra gas, not just a one tank,” Stiles said, and saw how the pregnant woman’s eyes flashed with interest.

She turned towards the others and one of the twins, probably her husband, looked at her, flicked his gaze to her protruding stomach and then back to her eyes.

“Boys, open the gate,” the old woman said and the twins did as told while the women began to walk toward the main building.

There were a few trailers around the gas station and there were children playing in the back of the yard. A few vehicles were parked around too.

When the women got to the front of the gas station, the gray haired lady nodded for Stiles to park next to the doors.

“Do you want to come inside to negotiate or would you rather do it outside?” she asked politely, and even though Hale’s hand briefly touched Stiles’s back in warning, Stiles nodded to the woman.

“Inside, I think. Must be quieter there.”

Hale sighed almost inaudibly, and they walked after the women into the old, worn looking gas station. The men staying behind on guard duty told Stiles enough about who was in charge in here. He liked it, too. There were way too many men in the world who underestimated women left and right and ended up paying dearly for it.

The old gas station had a part that had once probably had a small shop for auto parts and other stuff, and it was now what looked like a classroom for children. The other side, a diner-style space, had booths and they were shown to a big family one.

“Would you like some tea?” the young woman asked, and both Stiles and Hale nodded.

They sat after the older woman had taken a seat down across the table. There was just enough space for their large backpacks, which was obviously the reason why they were sat there in the first place.

“I’m Julia Jordan, and I’m the boss here,” the woman said, smiling a little, and suddenly she looked grandmotherly.

“I’m Stiles, this is Hale,” Stiles said and smiled back at her. “We would appreciate that if any Rogues come through, if they get in, you wouldn’t mention about us.”

Hale made a sound, clearly objecting to what Stiles was telling the woman, but she seemed to understand.

“Not friends of yours then. Good,” she said simply. “Now, would you like our mechanic to look at the bike for you just in case, while you’re here. It looked fine but there can be surprises.”

Her tone was caring, not greedy, so Stiles nodded at her. “Sure, I won’t say no to that.”

“Rosa, can you tell Petey to take a look immediately?” she called to the younger woman, who went out the back and they could soon hear her calling to the mechanic.

“So, we need gas, the more the better, but there needs to be a way for us to be able to carry it with us if you can spare more than what fits to the tank,” Stiles said.

The pregnant woman, Rosa, came back with a pot of actual tea and filled their cups with it, offering real sugar too.

She took her place next to Julia and looked at them with much seen eyes.

“Obviously, as you know which is why you mentioned it, the vitamins interest me more than any ammo, but we’re also a bit short on .45s,” she said and took a sip of her tea.

“I can spare a box of .45s and you can negotiate anything else with Stiles,” Hale said and Rosa nodded.

“I think we can give you a full tank, the checkup and a full jerrycan,” Julia said thoughtfully, and Stiles knew she was being generous.

Stiles’s asshole side wondered if he should try to get more gas or something else for a few condoms. Somehow he didn’t think the women would appreciate his offer. It seemed like children were a welcome thing around this particular little community.

“Thank you,” Stiles nodded instead and held out a hand for Julia to shake.

She shook it and then smiled. “I want my first grandchild to get the vitamins he or she needs.”

Stiles nodded understandingly. This was about much more than resources and he could understand that. Even though there were rumors of drug companies somewhere in Canada, nobody around here would get their hands on medication unless it was from pre-war time. Children didn’t usually have radiation or other damage these days, but since there were very few vitamins around, the bottle of pills Stiles had was worth the gas that was just as, or even more, rare.

They talked a little, keeping as much of the details of their current situation a secret as possible—this went for both the men and the women who were protecting their families—and finally Julia asked where they were going.

“We need to check out a place, a distant relative lives on a farm about a day out from here,” Hale said.

“Wait, are you talking about the Hill Farm? Marge, Tim and their little girl Clare?” Julia’s tone was worried.

“Yes, how did you know?” Hale raised a brow, suddenly alert and obviously worried.

“They come by to trade goods for gas sometimes and they haven’t been around in at least two weeks. All of them come over, and they were due at least a week ago. We’re getting worried.”

“We’ll check on them. If they’re fine, we’ll tell them you’re looking for them and worried. I’ll make them promise to come over in the next week, okay?” Hale promised.

“Okay, and if they don’t come over….” Julia knew the realities as well as they did.

“Yeah.” Hale sighed and drank the rest of his tea.

In short order, the trade was made, a jerrycan was strapped to the back of the bike and they were on their way.

They decided to drive through the evening and camp somewhere closer to the farm. Stiles could tell that Hale was truly worried now and it began to grate on both of their nerves a little. Just before sunset they saw a cluster of trees in the middle of some old, dried up fields. They drove there, put up the tarp and just huddled under it, wrapped into their bedding. It wasn’t safe to make a fire, nor was it safe to properly sleep, either. They ate some dry meat, nuts, and opened a can of what turned out to be canned peaches and shared it. Stiles could tell that Hale was making him eat as much as he did himself.

“Are you fattening me up?” he made his tone playful.

“You’re too skinny. Don’t want you to get sick.” Hale grunted and once the darkness fell, he told Stiles to settle down because he’d take the first watch.

Stiles fell asleep with his head on the big guy’s lap and woke up when the first sunlight penetrated his sleep. He was still in the position he had fallen asleep in, and Hale was already—or still—awake.

“Hey,” Stiles said and looked up at the man. “You were supposed to wake me up.”

“You slept so well and it was calm. Didn’t feel the need.” Hale shrugged.

They got up, packed the little they had unpacked in the evening and took off again.

In the late afternoon, they came to the farm after taking one about ten-mile detour when they took a wrong turn.

Stiles stopped the bike in the middle of the yard and they looked around. Hale cursed out loud. The house had either caught fire or been burned down on purpose, and it was recent because there was still smoke rising from a few spots.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What happened to Hale's relatives and what might it mean for Stiles and Hale?


	4. Ashes

They drove around the yard, keeping an eye on any movement, but there was none. They found two cows that had been obviously slaughtered and the meat had been taken, and three dogs that had been shot. It looked like they’d been trying to defend the property.

“Looters,” Stiles spat the word out, frowning.

They were on high alert again, parking in front of the ruined house, and kept their hands on their firearms at all times.

Stiles stood between the remnants of the house and the bike while Hale went into the building. Five minutes later he came back looking disgusted and grim. “Found two bodies.”

“The girl?” Stiles asked and the man shook his head. “Fuck…”

He hoped—against all odds, really—whoever was ruthless enough to do something like this had left the girl alone. She would be better dead with her parents than having been taken by who knew what kind of people.

“We should check out the outbuildings, see if anything’s left,” Stiles said carefully, as if not to upset Hale.

Hale looked at him grimly and nodded. He obviously didn’t want to be there, and Stiles could understand. He’d just lost some family, distance didn’t matter when it was blood relations, and wanted out.

“Yeah. Even if there’s something to take, I doubt they had more than bikes, maybe a small car. That’s how most of the looters I’ve seen move around anyway.”

Suddenly there was a tiny little noise from somewhere and both of the men froze.

It sounded again, a bit louder, and Hale pointed to the left side of the yard quietly. There was an old doghouse there, but curiously it had a door that could be closed instead of the usual hole in the front.

They walked to it as quietly as they could. Stiles’s heart was pounding in his chest. The dog house wasn’t big, but it could hold a person, easily. And in this world, people had weapons.

Hale nodded at him and pointed his rifle toward the door. Stiles, standing to the side a little, wrenched the door open as fast as he could. He pulled the gun away as soon as he saw what had made the noise, and Stiles peeked in.

“Are you Clare?” Hale asked, and the little girl, maybe three years old, nodded.

Her thumb was firmly lodged in her mouth and she was dirty, tear and snot stained, and totally and utterly alone.

Stiles leaned closer and held out his hands. “You can come with us, kiddo. Come out and we’ll clean you up a bit and figure things out, okay?”

The girl hesitated and sniffled and then reached out for Stiles. He pulled her out of her hiding place and she came willingly, clung to him and sniffled some more. To Stiles’s surprise she seemed plump and healthy.

“Now, let’s see… This is your Uncle Derek,” Stiles said to the girl and turned so that she could look at Hale. “I’m Stiles.”

“Okay,” the girl said, leaned her head to Stiles’s shoulder and suddenly her exhaustion seemed to take over. Maybe she realized she was safe or her little body just gave out, but she was out like a light.

“What are we going to do?” Hale asked, looking lost for the first time since they’d met.

“We’re taking her with us. We need to figure out how, though. We can hardly fit on the bike with the two of us and our stuff as it is.”

“Yeah, and we have at least half a week to my family’s place, even more if we run out of gas or find trouble on the way.”

“Let’s check the outbuilding, maybe there’s something useful there,” Stiles said, sighing. “She needs to be cleaned up anyway. I hope there’s something there.”

Hale helped him get his backpack off without jostling the girl too much, and pulled the bike closer to the doors to what looked like an old garage.

They opened the doors and found something they couldn’t have anticipated; a motorcycle with a sidecar. Hale took a closer look, while Stiles looked through the rest of the building with the sleeping toddler in his arms.

Luckily there was a laundry room in the old cow shed, and there were piles of both clean and dirty laundry everywhere. It broke Stiles’s heart a little to see it. They’d been safe here, Clare’s family, for who knows how long. They’d lived here, survived here, until some assholes came around and wanted to wreak havoc.

Stiles placed Clare on top of the pile of dirty laundry and pulled a sheet over her sleeping form. Then he went back to Hale.

“How does it look like?” he asked, leaning his hip to a workbench.

“The bike is old and it can’t be put together, all those parts on the bench are from the carcass of the bike, and as far as I can quickly tell there are few missing. I think that was why they hadn’t gone to Julia’s lately, well, before the fire. But the good news is, I might be able to take the sidecar and attach it to your bike.” The man’s grin was infectious.

“Awesome, and we have clean clothing. It looks like the dad was almost your size, so something should fit you, the mom’s clothes are a pretty okay for me and there are t-shirts and stuff I can grab. There’s also plenty of clothing for the girl,” Stiles said and went to stand next to Hale who was kneeling.

“Are you sure about this? We could take her back to Julia’s?” Stiles asked, and looked down at Hale.

The man had a pained expression on his face, and his thick eyebrows scrunched up for a moment. “She’s my blood. Distant, but still. My mother would kill me if I didn’t bring the girl to her.”

“Okay.” Stiles nodded. “Do you think it would be safe to warm some water in the laundry room basin? They might think it’s just the fire, if they’re still watching from a distance.”

“Sure, we’ll just stay ready to move fast. I’ll fix this, you go bathe the girl,” Hale said, having guessed what Stiles needed the warm water for.

Retreating to the laundry room, Stiles detoured enough to peek outside. Nothing. Eerie how quiet it was if you didn’t count the occasional crackle from the cooling ruins of the house. He had a feeling they needed to be as quick as possible.

While the water—rainwater from the bucket outside—warmed in the large vat and the girl slept, Stiles went through the clean clothing to form a few piles. Clean socks, oh thank the universe for that! Sadly the underwear the dad had worn was too small for Hale and too big for Stiles, but there was a decent set of thermal wear for Stiles and some other clothes for them both. Shoes, not so much, but then those were hard to come by anyway.

The girl wouldn’t need a lot, she’d grow out of most clothes soon anyway, if she’d live, Stiles thought morbidly. Nothing was guaranteed.

A little mewl alerted him that the girl was waking up. He went to her and the sudden fear in her eyes made Stiles realize she didn’t remember him.

“Clare, I’m Stiles, remember. I came with your Uncle Derek and got you from your hiding place, okay?” he spoke in a quiet voice, kneeling next to her.

She thought for a while, then asked, “Mommy?”

He couldn’t lie to her. “Sorry sweetie, Mommy and Daddy are gone.” Stiles sighed and watched the girl gnaw on her tiny bottom lip and then nod.

“Like Poppa and Nana…,” she said quietly and Stiles nodded. Probably so.

“Me and your uncle are going to take you to your uncle’s mommy. There’s a farm there too, probably all kinds of animals and other kids to play with too,” Stiles tried to sound cheerful but not overly so.

“Oh… okay.” She nodded again.

“Now, let’s get you out of these dirty clothes and into some clean ones, okay?” Stiles asked, and Clare got up and raised her hands so that Stiles could pull the dirty t-shirt off her.

“I went potty in my panties…,” she said in such a sad and embarrassed tone, that Stiles almost wanted to chuckle.

“It’s okay, sweetie, you were hiding. There was nowhere else to go potty, was there?” he asked, having noticed that she had, indeed, peed her pants at some point.

“No, there was not,” she said in a very proper voice, and this time Stiles did chuckle.

“Okay, go stand next to the basin while I make sure the water is okay.”

Clare walked next to the low bench where the wash basin was, and Stiles mixed some warm water in another basin, before finding some soap from the shelf on the wall.

They made a combined effort to wash the little girl and then dried her with a large clean sheet. Stiles goofed about enough to make Clare giggle delightedly and for a moment she was just a little girl and he was just an adult taking care of her.

When Hale’s large shadow fell over them, they both froze.

“Just me,” he said tiredly.

“Did you manage to get it off the bike?” Stiles asked over his shoulder, while pulling clothes on Clare.

“Yeah, we need to get the side car outside and attach it to your bike. Shouldn’t take long. The wheels are good,” Hale spoke as he went through the pile of clothes clearly reserved for him.

“Could you get Clare a bag of nuts and some water? I’ll pack the clothes away and we can go fix the bike,” Stiles said, as the little girl ran to where some children’s shoes were lined close to a wall.

She picked rubber boots and pulled them on. Stiles scooped up a tiny pair of sneakers she said still fit her, and he tucked them into a side pocket of his backpack which had already become Claire’s pocket.

It was freaky, being tossed into a situation where you had to take care of someone else, where you had no choice or say in the matter. It wasn’t that Stiles felt Hale would ask him to take care of the girl, it was because Stiles knew that deep within he was a decent human being, and taking care of a little child who had just lost her parents was what any decent person would do. Any good person.

When Stiles walked out of the building, heaving both of their backpacks, he saw Hale crouching near the bike and the sidecar the mercenary had pulled to the yard. Clare was sitting on top of the bike, eating nuts with concentration that told Stiles the girl was used to eating every bit and not wasting or dropping anything.

“If you hold it steady there, I can tighten the bolts here,” Hale nodded at Stiles and then towards where he was attaching the sidecar to the bike.

It looked sturdy enough, even though the bike wasn’t really made for this kind of thing at all, and Stiles just hoped it would last until they got closer to their destination.

Once Hale was sure the side car was attached safely enough, they began to figure out what went where.

“Clare, would you like to sit in the sidecar, with my backpack?” Stiles asked, and the little girl came closer to peek into the spot that was pretty much already reserved to her.

“Can I have a blankie?” she asked, and when Stiles looked baffled, she just tugged him back into the laundry room and pointed at a dark green blanket on top of a pile of laundry.

Stiles saw that the blanket, while not clean, wasn’t too filthy either.

“Okay, you can have it,” he said. The girl would need something to keep her warm anyway.

“Yay!” She giggled and ran out to Hale.

Just as Stiles stepped out with the blanket and a few ratty towels for extra cushioning, he noticed Hale grab Clare lightly by the shoulder and then lift the girl up. He made the universal sign of raising a finger to his own lips and the child stiffened in his arms.

Stiles listened too. Shit, an engine of some kind.

Stiles walked to the sidecar, tossed the towels on the bottom, wrapped Clare in the blanket while Hale went and started the bike.

“Clare, this is your little nest, okay? Keep your head down and take a nap while we drive. We need to go fast now. Don’t be scared,” he spoke as he tugged her in as safely as possible. The jerrycan was in the other end of the car, his heavy backpack in the middle, and Clare had just enough room in the front. Thank the universe she was tiny.

“Okay,” the girl said, sounding small and a bit scared, but then she ducked her head down and pulled the blanket over her head.

“She’s hidden before,” Hale said grimly as he moved back to give Stiles room in front of him.

“Yeah,” Stiles said, and without asking if everyone was ready, he drove quietly off the yard, towards a back road he hoped would lead to the bigger road somewhere along the way, and then let the bike gather speed.

Again, they drove with a purpose, Hale’s large body much closer to Stiles’s now and even though the rifle was in between them—a testament to Hale’s unease—it all felt more intimate and, in some ways, much safer.

“Shit,” Hale hissed after ten minutes or so, and Stiles immediately saw what the man meant.

The road was about to join to the main road soon, but the road they were on was cut by a hole in the road. It looked like someone had tossed an explosive on the road and then rain had melted even more of the sand and gravel away.

They were still running, or driving, away and this would take time.

“Take the girl to the other side,” Hale told Stiles, who went to pick up the sleeping child.

It was amazing what a little bit of driving could do to a child, she had just slept and now she was asleep again. While Stiles put the girl and her “blankie” on the ground on the other side, Hale looked around to see what the best course of action was.

“The side car is lighter,” he said, already stripping off his backpack and grabbing Stiles’s from the side car. “We can get them down from there,” he pointed at a less steep spot nearby, “and then we lift and push.”

It was their only chance, but hell if it wouldn’t be a lot of work. There was no going back or going around, the ditches lining the road were too steep and way too narrow to drive on, even though they were dry.

With the backpacks near Clare’s sleeping form, the men got to work. By the time the bike was safely down in the hole, they were both sweating buckets. Pushing the whole thing up the other side seemed like an impossible task, but they still put all their effort in and got to work again.

Hale pushed the bike, his huge biceps bulging and the muscles on his back bunching. Stiles quietly wondered if it would be wrong to pop a boner right then. He pushed the sidecar, trying to make sure no unnecessary pressure was put on the metal pipes and bolts that held it attached to the bike. It took lifting and pushing at the same time, which wasn’t easy when you didn’t have a steady foothold in the rubble.

In about five minutes that felt endlessly long, they had pushed the bike up. It felt like an hour of intense workout, and every muscle in Stiles’s too-skinny body was whining in distress.

“No time to rest,” Hale panted, digging his backpack for his canteen.

They took a few small sips each and readied themselves to go. Just as everything was in order and Clare was back in her “nest”—she had never woken up—they heard the engine, a car of some sort Stiles guessed, in the distance.

“Shit!” Stiles hissed, kicked the bike into gear and hoped that it would hold as he accelerated roughly, without caution, to get away from whomever it was.

Hale clung to him, probably out of surprise, and the rifle pressed painfully against Stiles’s lower back, but he couldn’t have cared less.

“Left or right?” he called over his shoulder when they got to the crossroads, and the car load of men and guns—they were in range—appeared behind them across the hole in the road.

“Left, but make it fast,” Hale decided.

Stiles did as told, never slowing down, and for a moment he thought they might fall when the balance of the bike and sidecar almost tipped.

It wasn’t really a surprise that the men didn’t try and take a shot at them. Ammo was a commodity, they knew there was no use trying to kill them, so taking the risk of not hitting them in the first place wasn’t worth it.

That didn’t mean it wasn’t nerve wrecking to be in range, to know that they just might be shot at anyway.

 “That way,” Hale said after thirty-minute drive. There was an old signpost in the next crossroad they came to, and new signs attached to it.

It wasn’t supposed to be funny, but the first large sign on top was one that stated “DANGER”. The original arrow pointed left. Afterward there had been added arrows to all possible directions. It was dangerous everywhere.

“We either have to go through the coastline, risk the desert, or hope for the best and drive straight through the valley from the south,” Hale said suddenly, in a thoughtful tone, speaking right into Stiles’s ear.

Stiles shivered at the feeling of the breath on his skin, but tried to hide it from Hale.

“The coast has too much radiation still, we can’t take Clare there.” Stiles told Hale, “The desert… well that’s not an option.”

The desert was where most of the Rogues and other criminals held their camps. It wasn’t safe for one people on a motorcycle, let alone three.

Hale nodded. “Through it is….”

Realistically they had enough gas, maybe, to get to the ruins of what had once been Fresno. But it was still hell of a long way to the farm that was somewhere in Sacramento valley.

It wasn’t just the war that had affected the major cities—there were craters where Los Angeles and San Francisco had been—but the natural disasters afterwards that had made things different.

In the last twenty years there had been two major earthquakes in New California, and each of them had ruined the rest of the cities bit by bit, and changed how you got into the Valley.

Bakersfield was lost, it was basically a desert after one of the military bases during the war had “cleverly” been hidden there. Someone leaked the info, and when the place was nuked, it ruined most of San Joaquin Valley.

While the radiation had cleared mostly since then, the farmland was ruined for at least a decade more. Or so the so-called experts said, nobody knew the truth at this point. Not when the earthquakes and tsunamis had messed up the situation even more. All anyone knew was, that the northern part of the valley was still okay, and that was where people flocked if they could.

The delta was a bit of touch and go, some people settled there despite the danger of radiation. It wasn’t bad, but things changed and the opening through all the bays to the sea…yeah. Not great.

“How about driving along the old Fiver?” Stiles suggested.

It had dangers, yes, like some camps along the way, but since there needed to be a way to transport goods to and from the valley, the old Interstate 5 was kept mostly in a good condition.

“Works for me, might be our best bet anyway.”

The light began to lessen as they navigated through the smaller roads towards the I-5, trying to avoid the desert as much as they could.

“I have a friend who has a place in Three Points. We could try and see if we can drive until there?” Stiles asked.

They needed to either drive there and hope for the best—that his friend was still living there, because even groups of people would have to migrate sometimes—or stop and fill the gas tank in the morning, after camping in the open.

“Fine by me,” Hale said, and Stiles liked the fact that he didn’t ask questions about Stiles’s friend. It meant Hale trusted him to a degree, at least. Stiles hoped that wouldn’t change when Hale learned who exactly his “friend” was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So who exactly is this friend of Stiles's, eh? We shall see....


	5. The Godfather

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS is where the tags come in, people. Or some of them, at least. I won't explain it in detail.  
> Also reviews get the next chapter (from Derek's POV) written faster, JSYK.   
> This is the last chapter I've written for this story, so everything after this one requires some cheerleading. Fair warning, eh? :)

They had stopped a couple of times during the afternoon and early evening. Mostly to get something to eat and drink and to let Clare stretch her legs and take a pee break. She fell asleep as the night began to fall, and despite having to drive more carefully even though the headlight worked on the bike, they made good way towards Three Points.

This route Stiles knew well. He had been here a couple of times, and when they drove to the long, winding driveway across the fields that had once held fruit trees—Stiles guessed—he felt a strange sense of safety envelop him.

The gates were huge, high and there was a guard in a small cabin right next to them.

“Shit, Stiles?” the guard who Stiles recognized as James, one of the few original members of Deucalion’s crew, blurted out.

Then he noticed the rifle on Hale and decided to act more professionally and carefully.

“Hello, Jamie boy,” Stiles smirked at the forty-something man who looked even more weathered than the last time they had met few years ago.

“Not getting a hug?” James asked, his bottom lip jutting out.

“Oh, I think you know you’ll be getting much more than a hug later.” Stiles smirked, and the guard adjusted himself not too discreetly.

“Who’s your friend?” James looked at Hale.

“Hale. He’s tough but harmless.”

“I’m Clare,” a small voice said from the sidecar, and James nearly jumped out of his skin.

“Fucking hell….”

“Language,” Stiles scolded him with a grin. “This is Clare, a relative of Hale’s.”

“Okay, well, I suppose I have to let you in. But see you in a couple of hours, okay?” the ruggedly handsome guard said in a hopeful tone, looking only at Stiles.

“You bet.” Stiles grinned, and they drove in the gates.

“Who exactly is the owner of this place?” Hale asked quietly, voice full of doubt.

“Deucalion, we go long way back.”

“Holy shit!” Hale’s tone made Stiles smirk inwardly. “Well, at least we’ll be safe inside the walls…,” he mumbled.

As soon as they drove in front of the old ranch style house, men piled out.

In the front was Deucalion, a fifty-something man with a cane and the meanest looking face you’d ever see—until he smiled.

“Stiles my boy!” Deucalion exclaimed, ran down the stairs and practically dragged Stiles off the bike and into his arms.

Stiles chuckled. “Well hello to you too, Duke….”

“Who do we have here?” Deucalion asked then, after setting Stiles down again, but still holding him to his side.

“I think that needs to wait until your study,” Stiles said with purpose, and Deucalion’ small smile turned cautious.

“Sure.” The obvious boss of everyone there looked at his men. “Lucas, Tex, take the bike to the garage and make sure it’s in top condition. Fill the tank too. Seth, you can show Stiles’s friend where to take the backpacks.”

Right then, a tiny woman in her mid-seventies walked out to the porch.

“Mother, look who I found,” Deucalion said proudly to the woman.

She beamed at Stiles and held out her hands.

Stiles pulled himself away from Deucalion, grabbed Clare from the sidecar where she looked scared but curious, and walked up the stairs to the woman and straight into her arms with Clare.

“So good to see you, mamacita,” he sighed, then kissed her wrinkly cheek and leaned back again. “This is Clare and I think she would like pancakes for dinner.”

“I’ve prayed for you, Stiles. I’m so happy you’re in one piece,” the old woman said before looking at Clare. “Hello Miss Clare, would you be so kind to come with me, while Stiles and his friend go talk with my son Deucalion? I think we have some chocolate chips somewhere…,” she said thoughtfully.

“Are those good?” Clare asked dubiously.

“Chocolate chips?” Stiles asked.

Clare nodded.

“They might just be the best thing you’ve ever tasted, little one,” Deucalion said from behind Stiles’s shoulder.

“Okay,” the girl said and took the old woman’s hand. “But… you won’t go?” she asked Stiles and looked around him and Deucalion to see where Hale was.

“No, we won’t go without you, you’re safe here,” Hale said.

“Okay,” she repeated, and began to babble while being led away by the old lady.

“Seth, show Stiles’s friend to my study when you’ve gotten their things to the guestroom,” Deucalion said, and the young man with black hair and very light skin nodded seriously, before taking Stiles’s backpack from Hale and showing him the way.

Stiles followed the familiar path into Deucalion’s study and was soon sitting next to a roaring fire with boots off, feet on a footstool and a glass of fine, very old whiskey in his hand.

“So…,” Deucalion prompted.

“I’d rather wait for him to get here,” Stiles said, and Deucalion merely nodded.

They sat there, Stiles leaning back to the couch that felt better than anything he had experienced in a long time—except the fuck in the cave—and hummed contently. Deucalion chuckled under his breath.

The knock on the door interrupted the peaceful moment, but when Hale walked in, Deucalion sat up straighter in his leather armchair across from the couch and gestured for the big man to sit down next to Stiles.

“Whiskey?” Deucalion nodded towards the small bar nearby, but Hale shook his head.

“I’m former Lieutenant Derek Hale of the UN Task Force. Second generation,” he said seriously, looking straight at Deucalion. It was obvious he felt uncomfortable and trying to relax in his seat seemed an impossibility.

The older man looked back for moment, then turned his gaze to Stiles. “And how is it, Hale, that you came across my godson?”

“Your—” Hale sputtered and shot daggers at Stiles who smirked a little.

“Oh, sorry. Forgot to mention that Deucalion is my Godfather.” Stiles shrugged and smiled wickedly. “As I said, we go way back…”

“How is it, that not once in the last few days did it ever come up that you’re the Godson of the most badass guerrilla boss in the whole Northern hemisphere?” Hale demanded.

“Well, it didn’t exactly come up in all the conversation we had. And I wasn’t coming here until you told me where you were going. It’s not like you’re not completely safe here,” Stiles drawled lazily, stretching further and then looked at his godfather. “Am I right?”

“Yes. Nobody who Stiles trusts to bring here will be harmed, unless they harm anyone here first. If that happens, they’re as good as dead,” Deucalion said matter-of-factly. “Now, the story, please?”

“I was in… what city was it, Hale?” Stiles asked, but curiously enough Hale didn’t answer, he just looked grim and stared at the fire. “I was in this city, edge of it, a few days back. I noticed a hidden door, managed to get in, and then this guy comes and tells me that we need to go right now. Turns out his old Rogue buddies were after something….” Stiles shrugged and sipped at his drink.

“The map for the Grail, I assume?” Deucalion looked at Hale, who nodded.

It didn’t seem to surprise the mercenary that the guerrilla leader would know about the vault known as the Grail.

“And you decided to go on together?” Deucalion looked from one to the other.

“Well, they noticed his footprints and knew it was probably me who got there before them, so it was either leave him alone or take him with me. Didn’t seem right to leave a skinny guy like him alone.” Hale rubbed his neck and glanced at Stiles.

“That’s very thoughtful of you, though I have to say that Stiles has some interesting skills of his own. I haven’t seen anyone hack a man to pieces with a machete as fast as he does,” Deucalion said in a tone that seemed very proud, and Stiles could tell even Hale was a bit disgusted.

“That was once, and he was trying to stick his cock where it didn’t belong.” Stiles rolled his eyes. “Safety in numbers. Plus, he seemed to know where he was going. I’d been alone for months at that point.”

“The bike is a nice find,” Deucalion said, “And where did you find the girl?”

“The girl is actually really a relative of mine.” Hale looked at Deucalion again. “She’s my second cousin’s daughter. We got to their farm earlier today and it was burned down. She was hiding, both parents are dead. The sidecar was theirs.”

Deucalion nodded. “And your plans are?”

“We’re heading to Hale’s family’s farm somewhere north of Sacramento.”

“I see….” Deucalion nodded. “I have to suggest that you wait for a colony or we figure out another way. Because Bakersfield has been taken over by Rogues and there are plenty of other armed gangs along the way. It’s not safe.”

“We can hold our own,” Hale said, but Deucalion raised a hand to stop him.

“I don’t doubt that. But why take the risks, especially with a child with you?”

“We’ll think about it, okay? Now would it be possible to have a warm bath?” Stiles batted his long lashes at his godfather and Deucalion chuckled.

“Sure,” he said and called out “Seth!”

Ten seconds later the young man stepped into the room like a servant. “Yes, sir?”

“Stiles and Hale would like warm baths, could you see to that for them? And make sure someone goes to let James off shift early,” he said, grinning, and the young man’s eyes flashed with amusement, then he nodded.

“Right away, sir.”

“Now, relax, you two. And I’m sure Mother will take care of the girl for you, if you’d rather have tonight off for… other things,” Deucalion suggested, and got up from his chair. “I’m afraid I have to finish some paperwork, but please don’t mind me.” He moved to sit behind his desk, and Stiles took the cue.

“I think we’ll go check on Clare and then the bath,” Stiles said and went to place the now empty glass on the bar. “Thank you.”

Hale nodded at Deucalion who just waved them off as if to say “no big deal.”

Stiles led the mercenary into the kitchen, a massive open space with the kitchen and a long dining table on one end, and some sort of a living room area on the other end.

“The guys like to hang out around where the food is,” Stiles nodded towards the couches that were scattered around the space, between game tables and bookshelves.

There were about a half a dozen men spending time there, and most of them grinned at Stiles and murmured a hello. The rest looked at both Stiles and Hale with some suspicion, but it didn’t bother either of them.

“Uncle Derek!” Clare called from where she was sitting in a high chair that had seen better days, and Hale broke into a grin that seemed like sunshine after the monsoon season.

“So, chocolate chip pancakes are good, I take it?” Stiles asked and the girl, face smudged with whipped cream and chocolate, nodded at him vigorously. “Clare, would it be okay if Mamacita took care of you tonight, if you’d sleep where she does?” He asked the girl, and the woman who was the mother of the whole group nodded.

“We’d be just fine and you can help me feed the animals in the morning too,” she said to the girl, who seemed to be thinking hard.

“You won’t go?” she made sure, looking from Stiles to Hale.

“Not without you, sweetie,” Stiles promised and Hale nodded gravely.

“Okay!” she said and shoveled more pancake into her mouth.

“You boys know you can eat whatever you find or ask someone cook for you. I bet Seth wouldn’t mind cooking for you.” The woman smirked at Hale. She extended a delicate hand at him. “I’m Alice Ruiz, but everyone here calls me Mother. Except Stiles who calls me Mamacita, because my last name which I got from my second husband, rest his soul,” she added the last thing and crossed herself before re-extending the hand to Hale.

“Hale,” the big man said, and surprisingly kissed the back of Mother’s hand.

Seth coughed from the doorway. “The baths are almost ready,” and blushed promptly when Mother shot him a knowing look.

“Go on, boys, me and Clare, we’ll be alright, won’t we sweetie?” she asked the little girl, who nodded rapidly.

“I’ll send some of her clothes with Seth,” Stiles said, and went to kiss Clare’s head.

Then he walked back to the hall and up the stairs, into the room where he knew their things would be. Seth took the girl’s clothes from him and vanished to take them to Mother’s room, Stiles assumed.

“The bathroom is downstairs, but there’s a staircase right outside the room so we don’t have to go through half of the house,” he explained to Hale while stripping from most of his clothes. “They have towels and everything there, so we don’t have to do anything but get there. Come on,” he said, impatience growing when Hale took off his own clothes too slowly to his tastes.

Going to the bathroom and settling in to the bath tub was what he could picture heaven being like. There was only the hot water, content sighs from Hale’s side of the tiled room, and the feeling of being totally, utterly safe.

The knock on the door made him jump a little.

“Hmm?” It was all Stiles could come up with.

“James here, can I come in?” The familiar voice he had missed so fucking much over the time they’d spent apart asked.

“Oh, sure.” Stiles grinned, sat up again.

James walked in and went to get some hot water into a basin.

“So, how long are you staying this time?” the older man asked, and Stiles could tell it was a loaded question.

“Not long, I think. Few days at the most. We’re heading north.” It was the truth, after all.

“You could stay here or come back…,” James said thoughtfully, not really asking Stiles to stay because it wasn’t their style at all, had never been.

“You know as well as I do that I don’t stay long in any place,” Stiles sighed and slid back deeper into the water to watch James rub his neck and chest with a washcloth.

Despite being an old—older—mercenary, James was extremely hot. All the scars he had, the still fit and firm body…. Suddenly James looked at him over his shoulder and smirked, as if he knew Stiles’s thoughts. Yes, they always had good time together and everyone here knew that.

James dropped the cloth and went to kneel next to the tub, only slightly complaining about his “old knees”. They kissed and the familiar scorching heat rushed through Stiles’s system like a shockwave. Damn he had never been this attracted to anyone else.

Through the haze of kissing, Stiles heard Hale get up from his tub and mumble something about going upstairs. Stiles took a breather and told him he wouldn’t come to the room assigned to them before morning. James’s hand on his cock made him gasp and after that Hale’s existence was forgotten for the time being.

It was familiar, the way James touched him. The man made him come in record time just by knowing every sweet spot he had and using them like a manual: “How to get Stiles off in mere minutes?”

When he lay in the water, groaning with the aftershocks that still made his body tremble, James chuckled, gathered him to his arms and slid into the tub holding Stiles to his chest.

“There’s cum in the water,” Stiles pointed out.

“There will be more before we’re done here, trust me,” James murmured into his ear and manhandled him so that his back was to James’s chest.

In situations like these Stiles didn’t care about being smaller, he liked the fact that he could let go with James, let himself be treated like a ragdoll or a sex toy, not that James would ever go that far. Their relationship was based on mutual, intense attraction and deep respect. He knew things about James nobody else knew. James knew things about him he hadn’t told anyone. And they had been in tough situations a couple of times, if not saving each other, then certainly taking care of each other.

“Do you remember…  the last time?” Stiles let his head loll back to James’s shoulder and enjoyed the way the big hands on his hips kept moving him up and down slowly. It was almost as good as if James had already been inside him, instead of rubbing Stiles’s ass against his erection like this.

“Oh yes… I hope we have less action this time,” James nodded and kissed his shoulder.

“How has it been here?” Stiles turned his head to lick a stripe along James’s neck.

“Better, only one attempt since you were last here. And it was not that bad.”

Occasionally someone, usually an organized group of people, would try to break in to Deucalion’s compound. They knew he had resources, and sometimes desperation made them believe they could take down all the armed-to-their-teeth guards. To think someone could take out a whole guerilla platoon…. Not going to happen. Even the Rogues weren’t that stupid. Then again, they had resources of their own so maybe they didn’t need Deucalion’s.

“You’re going to come, aren’t you?” Stiles asked, hearing the change in James’s breathing.

“Mmhmm…”

“Not until you’re in me, you won’t!” His tone was mockingly outraged.

“No lube in here,” James gasped against his neck.

“Bound to be something…wait, wait!” Stiles exclaimed and got off James’s lap and the tub.

When the other man groaned loudly, he chuckled. “You know I won’t leave you hanging.”

Going through some of the bottles on the wall shelf, he smirked a little. “Baby oil? Why would anyone in this house have baby oil here unless it was for lube?”

“Good call, now get your ass here,” James grinned.

Instead of climbing to the tub straight away, Stiles turned around and sat on the edge, tossing the bottle to James. “Prep me first.”

“Lazy boy you are…” James murmured, but did as he was told, making sure the oil slicked Stiles inside and out, before pulling him into the tub with a splash.

“Hey!” Stiles protested, but the word turned into a moan when James turned him to get them chest to chest.

There wasn’t room to properly straddle the other man, but knowing this wouldn’t take long and that James could move him easily by himself made him grip the edges of the tub and just go with it. He felt the James’s cock nudge at his ass, almost like asking a question.

“Come on, fuck me already!” Stiles hissed.

He leaned forward and waited until James had them properly lined up, before leaning back and sinking down on his erection.

“Fuuuuck…” Stiles moaned. It was still like coming home, still one of the best things ever.

The rhythm James established wasn’t that fast, but it was punishing and he kept thrusting up while pulling Stiles down by his hips. It was so fucking good, and when Stiles finally came, it was out of the blue, at almost the same exact moment he felt James’s hot cum inside his ass, and heard the older man groan in the most familiar way.

It wasn’t romantic, it was hot as hell. In another universe, they would have made a great real couple, but not in this one. Here they were just great friends with insane chemistry and no ties to each other and that was how it would stay.

**Author's Note:**

> I started to write this one in 2011 as original fiction. Seriously, I had to check and I'm stunned it's been that long... Geez. 
> 
> In any case, it wants out of my head and I need therapy writing, so I turned it into Sterek instead. You're welcome?
> 
> I have a few chapters written, and I'll post them whenever I feel like doing so. I might be persuaded to actually do that faster (and write the rest faster too) if you people left comments and kudos. I'm one of those needy writers who need cheerleaders. OR maybe I'm just depressed. Scratch that, I AM depressed and needy. So there.


End file.
